I'm writing this on Sunday night. I've just put Veronica to sleep and I'm sitting next to the fireplace. It's like 10 degrees outside. The house is quiet. Greg sits behind me at his desk, writing, wearing headphones.
It's the second day of the new year.
I made a simple Sunday supper, we opened a nice bottle of wine and all three of us ate around the coffee table, so that we could be near the fireplace.
I have a lot of thoughts about this last year. And a lot of thoughts about the year to come.
For instance, as I write this I procrastinate here and there by taking a few minutes to troll through craig's list Los Angeles, looking at apartments. We are moving in 5 months and all of a sudden it's all we can talk about, all I can think about.
On new year's day I woke up in the morning thinking about how I will be waking up somewhere completely different one year from now. I thought about the friends I will have celebrated with the night before, and what the air and the light will be like in the bedroom of some California bungalow house we are living in next new year's day.
I feel like I am going home.
But I suppose all of this is a little contradictory to the resolution I am finally getting around to discussing. Which is this: I want to revel in the good moments more. Instead of focusing on what's happening next, I want to enjoy NOW.
I'm not talking about just being present. I jabber on about that enough. It feels like all I do is try to be present. What I realized I don't do enough is revel. I don't soak myself in the moment long enough. I don't splash around or set up camp. I never lounge. I merely take notice of what's happening, make sure I think I'm being present, and then it's off to the next big thing.
The next big thing. There's always going to be a next big thing, isn't there?
The minute Greg and I got engaged, I started stressing about the wedding. Two months after we got married I started thinking about getting pregnant. Right after getting pregnant I started obsessing about the birth. And don't even get me started on my writing. The moment I accomplish one level — a column on The Huffington Post, a book proposal complete, an agent, I'm plowing ahead to the next step.
I don't revel enough. I want to enjoy these quiet, and not-so-quiet, victories more thoroughly. I want to remember that there is always going to be something else to strive for, but that there won't always be this moment.
I will never again be 32 years old, on a Sunday night in Chicago, sitting beside a fireplace, anticipating the first week of a new year. It's not enough to just be present anymore. Not for me anyway.
Me and Veronica on the last day of 2010.